"I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings"

It was a sunny, crisp autumn morning when I arrived at the Polunsky Unit in Livingston, Texas, to visit Rob.  As I walked from the security entrance across the yard to the visitor’s center, the air smelled clean and fresh the way it only can when the wind is blowing through the trees and their fragrance is dispersed.  The beauty of nature was in stark contrast to the institutionalized environment just beyond the doors I opened to enter the visitation center.

In rather short order, Rob was brought down to booth 26, uncuffed, and we picked up the handsets to speak.  Nothing.  None of the handsets worked in that booth.  The visitation officer called up to the guards who escort inmates to and from visitation booths about the situation, and she said it would be a 15 minute wait until the guards returned with an inmate they were escorting to visitation before we could be moved to a working booth.  This made for some interesting efforts at conversation given that the Plexiglas between us is so thick that no sound passes through.  The 15 minutes passed quickly because, even without the ability to hear each other, communication between us was still lively and entertaining.

Once we were settled in to a working booth, we led off with me inquiring about the status of Rob going to Disciplinary Court to address the charge which Officer Sheffield levied against him.  When the Level III papers were written up, the officers wrote that Rob refused to go to Disciplinary Court, so he was not allowed to go and plead his case.  Anyone who knows Rob knows he would never refuse an opportunity to dispute such a ridiculous accusation as that which was used to send him to Level III.  Cleaning products had been provided to him so that the cell in which he is staying could be cleaned satisfactorily.  Rob’s property which was confiscated during the shakedown of October 20, 2011, still has not been returned to him.  It was extremely cold in the visitation area and I know Rob has previously mentioned how cold it is back in F Pod, yet I noticed he was only wearing the sleeveless white “jumper” and no other shirts underneath.  I asked him if he was cold and he said he was but that shirts aren’t allowed on Level.

A great deal of our time was spent discussing post-hearing work which needed to be accomplished.  There is a lot of work to be done in a short amount of time, so our conversation focused on those tasks during the majority of our visit.  Because it was the first of the month, the option to have photos taken was available.  After spending so much time focusing on legal work, it seemed like a nice way to round out our visit.  For the first time in our photos, Rob shared something special and beautiful:  his smile.  These pictures are sitting next to my keyboard now and I look at the warmth and energy in Rob’s smile and the line which keeps repeating in my mind like a mantra is, “I know why the caged bird sings.”  Rob faced an unjust charge which sent him to the worst of the worst at the Polunsky Unit, his property was ransacked and confiscated, he is denied even a t-shirt to help him fend off the cold of the concrete pit, he is engaged in extremely important legal work for his case, and yet he can still light up a room with his smile.

When I look at Rob in these pictures, I wonder how Maya Angelou knew about our brave friend when she wrote that line because truly, it embodies who Rob is.  Though Rob is in the fight of his life – for his life – he still carries himself with dignity and compassion, grace and wisdom, beauty and depth.  It is an honor and privilege to be a part of Rob’s fight.  It is an honor and privilege to have Rob as a friend.  It is no cliché when I say, “I stand with Rob Will.  Will you?” 

Pax e bene,
Dawn Bremer

http://www.freerobwill.org
http://www.drivemovement.org
https://www.facebook.com/FreeRobWill

Slipped Through the Loophole - My October 24 visit with Rob

It had been almost two and a half weeks since Rob and I last had a visit.  In that time, so many things had happened.  Supporters came from across the ocean and across the country to visit with Rob and prepare for his evidentiary hearing. Then, there was the hearing itself, and now the wait begins for word on the outcome of that hearing. My anticipation of this visit was palpable. Thankfully, cruise control tempers that anticipation and I avoid getting caught by any of the speed traps between my home and the Polunsky Unit in Livingston, Texas.

As always, I called the warden’s office when it opened to confirm that Rob was eligible for a visit, and they said he was.  Imagine my surprise — no, my horror — when Rob greeted me with the news that as of Thursday, he had been put on “Level.”  He was put on Level 3, the wretched solitary dungeon.  His cell walls are stained with urine and are also covered in some sort of grease-like substance similar to a petroleum jelly.  I tried to wrap my mind around the information Rob was conveying to me and still I found it difficult to understand.  How everything had changed so quickly?  Rob’s property had been thoroughly ransacked and confiscated and he was in this pit.  Rob, the artist, with none of his supplies or the pieces on which he was working.  Rob, the writer, with but a few envelopes and some paper.  Rob, the reader, without his books.  Rob, the lover of music, without his radio.  The cruelty of this situation made my heart sink.

The officer of the visitation room answered my request for a discussion with the warden by telling me and Rob that the warden was in meetings. I could stop by his office on my way out. Rob and I talked about the hearing, moving forward with strategy, and a hundred other things. Still, the reality that Rob was on Level and reduced to one visit per month pervaded my thoughts. I asked Rob why the warden’s office told me he was eligible for a visit when I called that morning. He speculated that the paperwork may not yet have been entered. It was by the grace of a loophole that we had our visit today.

We said our goodbyes at the end of our visit, and I collected the property Rob had released to me. Though I haven’t actually weighed it, the red mesh property bag contained about 20 pounds of books, which I lugged to the warden’s office.  I was announced to the warden by his secretary and shown into his office.

Now, I realize that a prison environment promotes skewed behavior, but still, the office should maintain a certain level of decorum. Warden Simmons sat behind his desk, and another man (another warden, who looked more like a linebacker) was seated against the wall. I set down the bag and extended my hand in greeting to each man as I introduced myself. They remained seated. Uninvited, I took a seat anyway and related the circumstances as Rob had explained them to me. I told them about his property being taken, how it had been torn through, his pictures ripped off the walls. Among those items was the prayer cloth he had received recently. This was a difficult concept for the warden who kept asking if Rob was Muslim. I explained that it was not a prayer rug; that it was a prayer cloth and it was used for centering prayers and meditation. Eventually he got it. While I spoke he scribbled on a post-it pad.

When I tried to get clarification as to why Rob had been sent to Level, the warden said he hadn’t heard anything about the situation and would need to look into it to answer my questions.  Another man entered the office and sat down and was drawn into the conversation (though no introductions were made, I learned this was Warden Muniz).  Warden Simmons asked him if he had heard anything on the subject and the man replied in the negative.  When I asked Warden Simmons if I could call to follow up tomorrow afternoon, he responded with a laugh and said, “Hold on!  This is Monday!” When it became obvious that I had no intention of leaving without a definite course of action, and a contact to follow up, he tasked Warden Muniz to speak with Rob and the officer who wrote the charge. He would be the person I would contact the following afternoon. I thanked them for their time. Struggling under the weight of the books, I left the office and made my way out through the security doors and back to my car.

I drove away feeling enormous anger. The glib attitude regarding Rob’s situation struck hard with me. Their callous disregard of the inhumane conditions of Level and how casually they accepted Rob’s transfer infuriated me. How can these men, in a kind of willful blindness, allow an intelligent, warm, insightful, and gifted man like Rob to be locked away in some nasty dungeon cell? Would it be such a stretch to hear and consider all sides before a rush to judgment puts Rob on a disciplinary pod? Rob Will is an innocent man sitting on Texas Death Row for another’s crime. He carries himself with grace and dignity knowing he does not belong in this horrible place.

As prison officials find ever more ways to try to silence Rob’s voice, it is imperative that we take up the fight and remain loudly vocal. We must tell the world: “Rob Will is innocent. I stand with Rob Will, will you?”

Pax e bene,
Dawn Bremer

http://www.freerobwill.org
http://www.drivemovement.org
https://www.facebook.com/FreeRobWill

Love Cannot Be Banned -- Eleonora's October 17 Visit with Rob

When the female officer told me that we had five minutes remaining in our visit, my heart began to beat faster. Our two-hour visit flowed with conversation and still, there was enough time to dam the overflow of emotion.  This is where the tears would normally start, but instead hurried good-byes full of affection flood the wire which connects us on both sides of the Plexiglass. This visit was different, not because my eyes weren’t prepared for tears to run, but because we’d had enough time to remember that our relationship transcends place and circumstance. It is a curious thing, but laughter and joy can diminish the walls of the visitation booth and vanish the thick pane between us.

Nearly half of our visit was taken up with a discussion of his upcoming evidentiary hearing. I found him well prepared and full of self-confidence, but how could he be any different? He is an innocent man who must wait. He is waiting for justice to give him what he deserves, and that is his freedom—no more, no less. Wednesday will be an important battle, but by no means will it mean the end of our struggle. Regardless of the outcome of the evidentiary hearing we must continue the fight. Our numbers must grow and we must improve our movement. We must spread the word about Rob’s case and his inhumane situation.  

After being caged for almost ten years in the Polunsky Unit in Livingston, Texas, Rob will, for the first time, leave his cell to be transported to another facility. For the very first time, he is going to give his own testimony in court. This is a right that was denied him during his trial. It will be the first time he’ll see family members and friends gathered in the same place at the same time. I wonder how he will feel when he sees Nature and the city he was taken from a decade ago. Will he recognize streets and neighborhoods? What about the huge bridges that connect Houston to the north, south, east and west? Of one thing I am certain, he will find joy in seeing it all.

“This system hates love,” Robert wrote, some years ago, “they’d ban love if they could.” But they cannot ban love because love is joy. It is a condition of being human, and something which walls, trials, retaliations and lies are unable to destroy. Defending love and joy is a duty in a world controlled and ruled by power and people with twisted minds. This is what I understood before I left the visitation room.

In Defense of Joy

By Mario Benedetti

Defend joy as a trench

defend it from scandal

and routine

from misery

and the miserable

from temporary absences

and from definitive ones

Defend joy as a principle

defend it from wonder

and nightmares

from neutrals

and neutrons

from sweet infamies

and serious diagnoses

Defend joy as a flag

defend it from lightning

and melancholy

from naïve people

and swine

from rhetoric

and heart attacks

from endemic

and academics

Defend joy as a destination

defend it from fire

and firefighters

from suicidal people

and homicidal

from vacation

and burden

from the obligation

of being happy

Defend joy as a certainty

defend it from rust

and dirt

from the famous

pages of time

from rest

and opportunism

from procurers of laughter

Defend joy as a right

defend it from God

and winter

from capital letters

and death

from surnames

and sorrows

from chance

and from joy itself.

I stand with Rob Will, will you?
Eleonora Poggio

http://www.freerobwill.org
http://www.drivemovement.org
https://www.facebook.com/FreeRobWill

The Labyrinth To Rob Will -- Eleonora's Visits with Rob

In my dreams there is always the endless labyrinth to navigate, full of bureaucratic questions to answer, or unexpected situations that become obstacles to seeing him. However, two days ago I heard the actual cla-a-a-nk of automatic security doors. They opened and I found myself crossing the long corridor that connects the entrance of the Polunsky Unit to the visitation room in Livingston, Texas.

It has been nearly a year since we last saw each other. There hasn’t been a day that I don’t think about the square, gray building with its tiny windows and the small cell where he lives. This trip to Texas was unexpected. When Rob asked me to be by his side at an upcoming important evidentiary hearing, when he said: “I think you should be there” I did not hesitate. “Of course. I’ll be there, now and always.”

It felt like an eternity before he was brought to the visiting booth. I wiped the telephone receiver and the microphone. I wondered if either of the handsets attached to the wall would work properly this time. On this particular occasion, the vending machines were almost empty and 20 dollars went to the few healthy items I could find: fruit salad, a sandwich, yogurt, and an apple. There were two other vending machines full of candy that no one seemed interested in.

I returned to the visitation booth and Rob was already there, waiting. Immediately we raised our left hands and pressed each other’s palms with only the glass between us. With our right, we picked up the phones. Our faces glowed with big smiles: such a long time has passed; yet it is as if we had seen each other only yesterday. “Man things have been crazy here,” Rob said. “Four people have been gassed in the last couple of days.” This is pattern of violence against prisoners on death row that has been escalating in intensity and severity for years.

The path of our conversation reaches all possible subjects, but a huge feeling of happiness arises when the names of our friends and comrades in the struggle come up: an irradiating German solidarity, relentless Austrian support, Belgian tenderness, the French amity that crosses the ocean to meet the non-stop typing and sharp eyes of a New Yorker. Then, there is our comrade in Chicago who shouts our cause loudly in every direction and reaches our Texas-based ‘friemily.’ And, of course, there is the dedicated strength of California. “I adore you all,” Rob says smiling, “the bond of inter-communalism is stronger than ever.” His eyes are wide open and shining with affirmation.

Because of the faulty ventilation system in the unit Rob has been suffering from allergies. He has a great backlog of letters to answer, but the discomfort is made worse with the constant noise and inhumane conditions of the unit. This greatly challenges the pleasure of communicating with the external world. Rob is also preparing for his evidentiary hearing. There is plenty of work to do and few days left, but the overwhelming love and solidarity coming from our friends and allies from all the corners of the world makes him feel strong and not alone in this important legal stage of his battle.

In my dreams, I always defeat the obstacles to finding Robert. The dream usually comes to a close when I find his cell: the door is open, but I knock anyway and he invites me in. I always find him busy, working on art crafts, paintings, writing or organizing the next step in the struggle. The dream ends when I’m sitting on his bunk, wondering why we are still there.

For a long time I asked myself what my dreams meant, but now I know. Rob is free in his mind. His integrity and strength of will are stronger than the walls of any maximum-security prison. He is an innocent man and still his liberation is a matter of justice; justice that he deserves. We must continue the fight until we break him free of his captivity.

I stand with Rob Will, will you?
Eleonora Poggio

http://www.freerobwill.org
http://www.drivemovement.org
https://www.facebook.com/FreeRobWill